I've Departed
by gombeen
Summary: One-Shot post OotP ... Harry has a lovely summer and makes some life altering changes


The Train ride back to those wretched Dursleys, an utterly pathetic excuse for a family, was the longest and most depressing journey of my short life that I've ever endured. Sitting in the carriage playing Exploding Snaps with Ron, Fred, and George it would look to an ignorant observer that this was just a normal start to the summer holidays; well any magical person would think that it was normal, if a muggle happened to witnessing these events transpire they'd think that they just entered the Outer Limits, and no longer had control over their television set, or Jeremy Beatle was going to pop up behind them shouting "You've be framed".

However, a dark ominous cloud hangs over the carriage and although I'm playing along with the fun and games, mentally my mind is elsewhere. It's on Voldemort and that frightful night when my life changed forever. It is my blood that's flowing in Voldemort veins; it was my act of nobility that led Cedric to his death at the hand of Wormtail. It was all my fucking fault!

**- Bang –** the noise from another stupid move by Ron makes me literarily jump from my seat, he was always better at chess than exploding snap, but at least the small chuckle escaping from my stiff upper lip momentarily drags me out of my reprieve. Unfortunately, the sombre atmosphere never truly leaves despite the chuckle at Ron's expense; I'm far too young to face my own mortality even though every year since entering this treacherous fairly tale, I've nearly died. Now it has all changed, changed utterly I was watching helplessly as Cedric was murdered, to weak to help. I was tied up defensive as the terrible beauty was born.

Most of the students have avoided me like the plague; either they believe I'm responsible for Cedric's death or believe Dumbledore that You-Know-Who is back and that being near me will just get them killed. Honestly, I really couldn't care less what most of the students thought. They're sheep that follow blindly nothing more that mere children who are unprepared to face the horrors of this world muggle or magical. Suppose, my unabashed view of the world is something I can thank my_ loving _family for. Thinking of family, I feel a small tremor, must mean that huge oaf Vernon must be near by, skulking or sulking I'm to jaded to care.

I quickly escape from King's Cross; Ron's jealous expression at Hermione's kiss, Mrs Weasley's concerned glances and Mad-Eye, Lupin and Arthur's threats to Vernon Dursleys are really starting to grate at my nervous.

I should really tell them that the road to hell is paved with their good intentions. In other words, you left me to rot there for eleven years –fuck off – with your meaningless, worthless and obstructive interference in my relationship with my family. But instead I say nothing.

I am Harry Potter and this is miserable my life.

--- ---- ----------------- ------------------ --------------- ----------

My lonely life, it has been one week since I spoke another living soul and it is not because Hermione kiss stole my ability to speak. I'm live at number 4 Private Drive and I have no reason to speak to any of the inhabitants, despite my worse fears after the incident at the train station Vernon and I have come to truce I ignore him and they ignore me. I couldn't be happier. My first week back in the muggle world was spent alone in the spare room, only coming out to get something to eat or to do the chores Aunt Petunia demanded I do.

They treat me like I've he plague – I'm actually starting to think I'm infected – one has to love the irony that the mundane Dursleys react the exact same way as the majority of the Magical World towards me.

I was expecting at least one owl a day with letters from my friends and alleged protectors pestering me about my feelings or passing on meaningless platitudes, but instead nothing useful. Not one fucking useful letter. I'm getting seriously pissed off with my alleged friends all they keep writing is _We can't say much about you know what … etc. _What a load of crap. I know full well that a wizard is following me, the **crack** of someone apparting is unmistakeable and it couldn't be that hard for him to hand me a parcel or brief me on what happening.

Suffering alone in the Muggle world is exactly what inspired Dante to write the 'Devin Comedy'. The temptation to flee was growing stronger and each spell I memorise is bringing me closer and closer to the day when I tell the Dursely to stick their hospitality up Dudley's over sized ass.

After reading another pointless letter:  
_Hey Harry,_

_Me and Hermione are at you-know-where, we've been told not to say anything important in case the letter goes astray. We've be very busy but can't give you details, there is a fair amount going on. We'll tell you everything when we see you. _

_Ron_

Tossing it in the bin, "if I didn't know better I'd think Ron was deliberately trying to tease me. Wait; scratch that, maybe that's exactly what he is at. That small minded little red head jealous asshole." I couldn't help but ranted at Hedwig.

"talking to myself, first sign of madness. Bet they'd love that. Where's that fucking book gone." I was in futile search for my 'Defence against the Dark Arts' book when Hedwig flew onto my shoulder. "Ouch, what the" I yelped. Looking at my loyal bird I dawned on me. "sorry girl, I forgot the water again, didn't I? and you having to travel all the way from _you-know-where._ What a bunch of juvenile shits._"_

Quick trip to the bathroom, I once again embarked on a frustrating and annoying search for something to distract me, before I indulge in my pyromaniac fantasy. I mentally screamed the summoning charm and suddenly the closet burst open and the book flew straight into my nose, so much for my famed Quidditch skilled I thought, whilst rubbing the tears out my eyes.

After I calmed down and no longer felt like Pinocchio it dawned on me what happened; I did magic – I'm so screwed now – will the Ministry of Magic believe that my wand was under the floorboard? But no letter arrived and before I realised it, I had memorised yet another spell and nightfall was rapidly approaching.

---- -- - -- - - -- ---- -- - -- - - - -

AAARH... a probing feeling hauled me out of another tortures dream

"Dobby is sorry sir. Dobby never meant to hurt Harry Potter sir." Dobby started to grab one of Harry's schoolbooks to beat him on the head. "It's ok Dobby, you just scared me."

"How is Master Potter, sir? Dobby has worry."

"I'm fine Dobby, don't worry about me." I lied. Seizing on my opportunity to speak to anyone who could have information on what was happening out side my personal hell. I gently prompted the eccentric house-elf.

"Master, Prof D'mbledore is adding extra safety. Many witches and wizards are coming to see him. Dobby is not liking them. Dobby remembers how it was the last time You-Know-Who was around." Dobby got an almost angry look on his face.

"Master Harry, Dobby is worry. I's remember how it was in the Malfoy manner during last time. House elves were badly, very bad sir. and then when you defeated the Dark Lord. I … I's scarier that will be even worse this time for my elfs."

I could see the pain and worry in Dobby's eyes, "I know how you feel Dobby".

"You know I'm going to do everything I can to make sure Voldemort doesn't harm anyone, don't you?" At first I just meant it has a platitude to ease the tiny creature's fears. But saying it allowed for the first time since Voldemort has returned the truth of the statement hit me.

"Ah, Harry Potter is too noble, too brave. Harry Potter should be more concerned with his own safety than with others. Without Harry Potter, nothing would stop the Dark Lord from being worse than before. What is Harry Potter doing to be ready?" Dobby was now being very serious; Harry had never seen Dobby like this before.

"What do you mean Dobby? What should I be doing?" I said.

"Ah sir, Harry Potter must learn. There is much to learn before he is in danger again." Dobby was staring directly into Harry's eyes as he said this. "Harry Potter must learn all he can. Harry Potter must not wait for learning to come to him."

Such intensity in his large orb like eyes are bordering on fanatical. How could I say to this child like creature I've just been reading, because the inane bureaucracy of the Ministry of Magic has a stupid rule about underage magic?

"Harry Potter has done nothing but worries and grieves since leaving school" Dobby said, very sternly. "Sir must be prepared. The Dark Lord knows what Harry Potter will learn in school and will be ready. Harry Potter must learn what is not taught in school. Harry Potter must know things The Dark Lord does not know, he knows."

"Well that was surreal, something out of the Outer Limits" I said to … well nobody. I didn't understand anything he really said except that he was right. Tom Riddle was one of the brightest minds of his generation. – I'm totally fucked – was the last thought that penetrated my thick school before descending into the abyss.

The next morning I felt surprisingly better, finally speaking someone from the Magical World re-assured me that the last four years weren't a delusion. After yet another pathetic breakfast of bread and some jam, Aunt Petunia left a note for this weeks work. I was to once again make her garden presentable. For such a pretentious family their garden is an utter disgrace. If I didn't come to live in their spear bedroom every summer the garden would be charitably called a rubbish dump.

The day out weeding and clearing the garden did at least give me a chance to evaluate my coming year, The Minister didn't believe Voldemort was back and my performance in hospital wing will not suddenly make him change his mind. Minister Fudge as an enemy will have repercussion and Dumbledore's insistence that I don't get the Daily Prophet delivered is not a good sign. I learnt my lesson last year about the press and it's better to have them on my side than on Fudges. But Dumbledore in his infallible wisdom has cut me of from all sources of information. I'm positive the special treatment from the Ministry Fudge is finished but does it mean there will be outright hostility?

At the far end of the garden, tired from a long day of hard labour, I couldn't be arsed walking to the tool shed to get the shovel. I tried to summon it, just like I did last night. After a couple of minute I started to get annoyed – if I couldn't summon a shovel how can I fight – allowing my emotions to once again get the better of me, the shovel zoomed towards.

At least I caught it this time.

Deciding that smelling like Dudley will just confirm the rumour about my delinquent background, I stripped naked before heading to take a quick shower. A lot has changed physically since I was a tiny first years walking wide eyed into this magical world. A fun time was promised, an adventure that would whisk me away my big bad family and the mundane future that awaited me in the local secondary school. I should've read the fine print. Actually I should've gone to a school in a different country, away from this fish bowel.

Like all mastermind, a fantastic idea struck me in the shower. Maybe, just maybe I can do other spell other that summoning charm wandless and soundless. Sure isn't soundless magic is taught in the sixth year syllabus. I could do the patronus charm when I was in third year.

Looking at my Divination book I kept thinking, catch fire – incendio- catch fire, but nothing happened. Not yet willing to admit defeat I started to imagine Voldemort as the book and suddenly I leapt up and grabbed the blanket off my bed and stamped the fire out.

Fuck … in a panic I threw open the window and lit one of Dudley's cigarettes, I lit it just in time before my Aunt burst into the room howling that she could smell smoke and demanded to know if I was trying to burn down the house with my freak powers. I couldn't help but smirk when she barged into the room and saw the fag hanging out of my mouth. First time she was speechless – don't think that's going to last -

Surprisingly she didn't care that I was smoking, something about smokers dying young –as if the smoke was going to kill me - anyway I decided to keep it up the stress I'm feeling lessened slightly when puffing away. In my panic it wasn't till much later until I realised, I didn't have matches or a lighter.

It was at this moment that Hagrid's parting words came back to me, "What will come, will come. We just need to be ready". Sounds like that corny song that Petunia is always humming, _Que Sera Sera_, pity nobody told Dumbledore that I need to be ready. Its one month to my fifteenth birthday and Dumbledore hasn't helped prepare me for my future in fighting, political or finical sense.

I had planned on spending the day practicing silent and wandless casting because either the Ministry is so busy they can't monitor my magic or more likely that can't monitor this form off magic, hence it's taught after you leave Hogwarts. However, Aunt Petunia decided that my sanctuary in purgatory is to be disturbed by her shouting; "get down here boy there is work you need to do."

Thanking the deities that I didn't walk down the stairs butt-naked to further piss my aunt off, she was talking to my ex-babysitter. "Mrs. Figg needs some help carrying home her shopping." She is nice enough for an insane old woman who has far too many cats. Descending the stairs whilst pulling out one of Big D, as he insists he be called now, cigarettes I started to follow Mrs Figg down the garden path in silence. It was uncharacteristic warm summer; many will claim that is a good thing, but not I. My Aunt has taken to sun-bathing in the back garden and all sense of common decency is been thrown out the window. Luckily I'm having nightmares about Voldemort otherwise my nights and day will be plagued with images of a half naked horse like woman.

In retribution, I'm mentally torturing of my family. Maybe I should have allowed the Hat place me in Slytherin. It could've been fun. While waiting outside Marks & Sparks for Mrs Figg to finish pottering inside, my mind started conjuring up what my life would be like if had listened to the Hat's advice and spent the last four years in the dungeon dormitories. Maybe I would've lost my fairy tale delusions of good and evil a lot earlier. Maybe Sirius would be free, maybe Diggroy wouldn't be worm food and maybe I wouldn't be standing here smoking a cigarette waiting for a dementia riddled woman to finish her shopping.

Voldemort's words about power sounded like lies to an eleven year old indoctrinated into a Griffindor mindset. But now I see the truth in those words. Obviously, not going to say a single word to any of my alleged friends, they're still living in a fairy tale, especially Hermione but power is all that matters. Rita showed how the press has power over me, Fudge as Minister has power over me and Dumbledore definitely has more influence on my life that any Headmaster should.

Taking the heavy bags from Mrs Figg, "It was a nice day for a walk," I muttered. It's a short walk through the tunnel under the motor way, which will bring us back to the estate. Although the sudden involuntarily shiver went up my spine and heard screaming in the distance, probably Big D off having some more fun with seven and eight year old kids.

"Harry, maybe we should pick the pace a little. It feels like rain," said Mrs Figg. I know the sound of fear. Fear, like flying is something I'm very familiar with and I definitely fearful tint in her voice. Re-adjusting my wand to allow a quicker draw, I took the other bags from Mrs Figg and started to walk faster. When suddenly the dim light at the end of the tunnel was snuffed out – fuck – Potter luck strikes again I thought as an unnatural darkness engulfed us.

I try to move silently along the tunnel my padded boots are making splashing noises, as I step into puddles on the ground. I'm still a fucking boy these situations aren't meant to happen this frequently. I can hear Mrs. Figg heavy breathing; please don't be having a heart attack, now would definitely not be a good time. I didn't shiver, even though it was getting colder by the second, and the dampness made it even cooler. Patches of puddles are starting to freeze. I don't even notice the temperature my mind is focused on the screaming, it is my mother screaming not Dudley beating up helpless children near by.

There no room for mistakes every night for the past two weeks I've been practicing. My eyes are slowly adjusting to the darkness, if I do it now Mrs Figg will assume I used matches. In a blink of an eye there was light in front of me.

What a big bloody mistake; when people say it is better to know what you are facing they're lying. Four Fucking Dementors are slowly gliding up the tunnel towards us –** thump**- I couldn't spare a glance to see if she just slipped on the ice or if it was indeed a heart attack. Suppose, it won't make that much of a difference if those soul-sucking creatures reach us.

I never felt so alone, where the fuck is my anonymous protector who has been following me, under an invisibility cloak, since I returned to Private Drive. Throwing all caution to the wind and hope that battling Dementors intent of robbing my soul is considered reasonable use of underage magic, I slip my 11inich phoenix wand into my right hand and extend the burning flame toward the vile creatures with my left. Once again I'm standing alone facing imminent doom. They just glide seamlessly over the burning ground; funnily the temperature continues to drop. Closer and closer they glide. I've no choice but attempt to bring happy thoughts to the forefront of my mind, which is not particularly easy when this repulsive shadow is sucking the very happiness right out of the atmosphere. Dismissing the idea that I could run and the Dementors would follow me, leaving Mrs Figg alone. I've no choice but to stand my ground. I yell "Expecto Patronus" and once again a huge silver stag erupted from the end of my wand bring a real smile to my face since that horrible night in the Graveyard.

It looks much bigger than the last time but maybe that because I'm standing in a narrow tunnel. Can't help but smirk as Prongs drives straight into the first Dementor sending it flying into the wall, disappearing into a puff of smoke. The glowing bright light drives the other three back while Prongs chase them out of the tunnel. My adrenalin is still pumping while I search for any other threat; from the sweat dripping from my forehead you'd think the battle lasted hours but from start to finish the skirmish couldn't have lasted three minutes.

In the mêlée I never noticed I how far I moved from where I heard Mrs Figg fall. "Are you okay?" I asked, whilst helping her up to her feet. Dazed and confused, "what, happen' dear?" she asks.

"You worried me there for a second; you slipped and hit your head. Here lets get you home, a bit of rest and you'll be feeling fine." I lie convincingly.

I hope Mrs Figg bought some chocolate in Marks & Sparks.

The remaining journey was in silence. I didn't know what to say, its there anything you can say to someone who nearly lost their soul to an invisible monster? Mrs Figg was still confused and extremely white when I eased her onto her couch. While I quickly switch on the heating before heading back to the spare bedroom at number four, I hear her moaning about killing someone named Fletcher. -Hope she doesn't have a concussion or remembers anything-

On the lonely walk back to the Private Drive I'm not able to make any sense at this latest attempt on my life. I maybe fifteen but I'm not a retard. If Voldemort knew where I was he'd have sent a lot more than four Dementors and without a doubt would've sent some Death Eaters. Plus Dumbledore got Snape as a spy in his ranks …. It makes no fucking sense.

I can't shake the felling that I'm helpless; events are happening and in no way am I in control. Dumble – fucking- dore won't even allow me read a bloody newspaper. Before I even reach the front door a Ministry Owl dive bombs me in the garden. The Dursley's are going to love that.

_Mr Potter_

_Ministry of Magic has received intelligence that you preformed the Patronus Charm at Seven thirty-Six this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the vicinity of Muggles_

_The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in you immediate expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residents shortly to destroy your wand._

_As you have previously received and official warning under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warloks' Statute of Secrecy your presence is needed at a disciplinary hearing oat the Ministry Nine a.m. of the 28th of August._

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

That's just fucking perfect. Fudge is pissing into the wind if he thinks I'll hand over my wand. In my anger I burn the letter to cinders before reaching the spare bedroom. Where yet another owl is waiting for me.

_Harry_

_Don't hand your wand to anyone. Dumbledore has just arrived in the Ministry and is dealing with it_

_Arthur _

I'm starting to wonder about his intelligence, talking about stating the obvious.

Well at least my earlier question has been answered; the Ministry of Magic is definitely unable to detect wandless and soundless magic. But what power does at mere Headmaster have over the Minster. Fudge and Dumbledore aren't exactly on speaking terms after he refused to believe that Voldemort is back. – I am so screwed – is all I could thing before dropping on the bed exhausted.

The last couple of days have been most worrying. My dreams have been troubling; Voldermort and Fudge are sitting in an office sharing a drink and laugh, while I lay bleeding on the ground. Summoning every ounce of strength in my frail body I begin running down a long unsettling dark corridor that finishes in a dead end. Although the beginnings of the dreams differ, I always end up running down that corridor. Ironically this isn't what's keeping me awake at night.

Why was the Ministry so quick in expelling me without investigating? Surely they are aware that the Dementors will join the Dark Lord in a heartbeat and that spell only has two practical uses and both would be called reasonable self-defence spells. Absent minded I scribble; "something rotten in state of Denmark" in my defence book. Who knew I'd actually remember anything from 6th class English. I'm literally starting to go mad, as paranoid as Mad-Eye Moody. Something isn't adding up, nothing is making sense. I'm been screwed and I don't know who is doing it or why. I'm sick and tired of been a scapegoat, a victim and been left in the dark and I'm not going to fucking take it anymore. Picking up my parchment I begin to make plans.

What is quickly becoming a tradition; it is ten minutes to midnight on the 30th of July and I'm once again sitting by the window waiting for the deluge of owls.

_Things to do in Surrey when you're dead:_

Is scribbled across the parchment a list of five items below:

_1. Learn muggle self-defence_

_2. Memorise every spell can get my hands on_

_3. Learn family history_

_4. Punch Sirius in the nose_

_5. Get a gun_

It's not a great list, but sitting her watching the stars waiting to hear from family and friends on my fifteenth birthday I'm startled by the fact that it is, in all likely hood, the last birthday I'll celebrate. Don't get me wrong, like most teenagers the prospect of death doesn't frighten me. I just don't want to yet.

The chimes from the distant churched singled that I've, against all odds, survived to see another birthday and single owl fluttered into the room. "How anti-climatic," I said to Hedwig while I tossed the quill and parchment onto the desk and reach to relieve the unfamiliar owl of its letter.

It is a box of honeydukes from Hermione and Ronald; "I don't even like honeydukes," I said has I tossed them in the bin. The card, if you can call it that, in Hermione all to familiar handwriting _I see you soon, _is written as the post script. Nobody will be coming to snap my wand –yippee- but I'm still expelled pending a formal hearing at the Ministry on the 28th of August not so good news. No mention of what Dumbledore is doing about it or if anyone is going to help me sort it. I'm been left in the fucking dark about my own life once again.

Punching my beloved godfather in the nose has just moved up to number 1 on my list. He didn't send anything. No letter, no card or no note to let me know how he is doing and why the fuck he's allowing me to suffer in fucking hell anyway. What happened to "want to come and live with me," talk back at the Shrieking Shack when Lupin thought I was a hors d'oeuvre Snape was the main course?

God must've been pissed off when he created Mondays, I thought as the morning light shined straight into my eyes. Clouds are forming but they won't be blocking out the unmerciful sun today. Another record breaking scorcher of a day is expected. Thank God I've finished my Aunts garden. My gut instincts are telling me today was going to be insane. Needing to break the silence I said, "Something isn't right, the house was eerily quite" to Hedwig. Who surprisingly didn't respond. Heading into the bathroom, a cold show was beckoning.

It's been 3 weeks since my Birthday and my list is coming along nicely, starting to make head-way on most of them but really looking forward to breaking Sirius nose and with each passing day hearing nothing from him the urge grows stronger and stronger.

I had to promise Dudley £1,000 and some intimidation; in the form of lifting him off the ground using my rapidly improving wandless magic in order to convince him to bring me along to his drug dealer; Big D has a dependence on steroids, it explains the weight loss and aggression pity his parent never read one of those drug pamphlets they're always giving out after Sunday service.

A small piss-ant of a man led us into a smoke filled backroom. Scantly gladded prostitutes were counting money and packing white powder into small bags. If I wasn't a wizard I'd be scared shitless. While my cousin made his deal, I levitated a gun and ammo into my hand. Thankfully the people in the room were high and if they did notice a gun flying through the air they'd probably dismiss it as a side effect of the white gold. The gun was a small low calibre bertha that I can easily conceal.

Not bothering to fully dress I head downstairs in just my boxer shorts, the Dursleys left for Marge's House by the seaside yesterday morning, the Bertha is magically sticking to the back, where it has been since the day I robbed it. 3 weeks of doing Judo, muggle self-deference, I thought I'd least have a six-pack or something, but sadly that only happens in fiction. I still look exactly the same; but I do feel fitter and stronger. Judo isn't like that fancy high flying shit in Hollywood movies and unlike Austin Powers would lead you to believe there is no punching, kicking or "judo chop." That was made extremely clear to us on the first day.

Judo is about throws and holds, using your opponent momentum against them. First lesson was boring all about falling and balance but after we learnt enough not to hurt ourselves to badly, we moved onto throws and holds I can no effectively disarm and break some arms in one single move. Judo is one of those sports it takes hours to learn but decades to perfect. Luckily for me the only people I'll be facing will be ignorant to muggle self-defence.

I could hear muttering near the near I got to the kitchen. Burglars? Nah, burglars would surely be careful not to make so much noise, even if they thought no one was home. Suddenly feeling very aware that I'm just standing in front of my old bedroom in my boxers I pick up Dudley's baseball bat from the cupboard. I swore to myself that the gun was a last resort, only way to appease my conscious.

"Where's Potter's room?" A voice called. The voice sounded familiar – it was the voice of the impostor who'd taken Defence Against the Dark Arts all last year. Could it be the real Mad Eye Moody? Or were Voldemort's followers playing with Polyjuice again?

"Woah! Oops!" A woman's voice called. There was another crash, followed by some laughter.

"You all right, Tonks?" A deep man's voice asked.

"Fine. Just tripped over my own feet, that's all."

"What does he look like?" A woman with bright pink hair demanded. The hair obviously belonged to the voice of the woman.

"He looks like his father," a familiar voice said, "but he has his mother's eyes." I couldn't contain a groan at the phrase. I heard it far too many times. I began to edge my way into the kitchen bat tightly gripped in my hand and a new philosophy in my heart.

"Where is he?" another woman was eagerly demanding.

"He might be asleep," someone else suggested.

"Maybe those Dursleys took him with them," another voice offered. Not bloody likely I though while stepping into the kitchen.

"Harry Potter!" the pink-haired woman yelled as the bat connected with her wrist, smashing it and forcing her to drop her wand.

I gave them an awful shock. That much was evident. A few gasped, one stepped backward, and all raised their wands before they realised it Moody was flying through the air crumbling into the big black guy. 3 weeks of Judo was worth it for the look of surprise on Moody's face.

"Calm down, Potter!" Lupin shouted, while I threw the bat at the crumbled-up Moody and pointed the gun in Lupin's face in one motion.

I remained standing, forcing air into my lunges. I'm not beneath boasting in 30 seconds I've knocked to large, and from the looks of it, experienced fighters of their feet. Removed another threat by breaking her wrist and the other unnamed woman was still standing their in shock. She hasn't even drawn her wand.

"Who the fuck are you and what do you want with me?" I managed to say in a surprising calm voice. Hannibal Lector would be proud of me and I didn't sound of breath.

"Hello, Harry," he said, as if perhaps I hadn't seen him yet.

"Who are you?" Harry repeated.

"You know me," a perplexed Lupin explained as if I was mentally retarded, "and, while you haven't actually met before, no doubt you know that this is Alastor Moody."

I nodded, still not lowering my wand, whilst gesturing and saying in a sarcastic tone "And the rest?"

"Members of the Order of the Phoenix, a group of wizards and witches devoted to fighting the Dark Arts, led by Albus Dumbledore," Lupin said.

"Harry, let me introduce you to Kingsley Shacklepot," Harry nodded at the person still picking himself of the ground, and remembering the face from the Leaky Cauldron, "Hestia Jones, Nymphadora Tonks," the woman with the pink hair and the broken wrist.

Well this is going to uncomfortable; I'm standing here in my boxers facing five adults. They're all on their feet but none have gone for their wands, yet.

"wow" I shouted, moving the gun towards Moody. "I'm way, way, to unstable for this shit. Everyone stop the fucking moving." Seeing that my demands weren't been taking seriously, I stepped forward and hit Lupin with the butt of the gun he dropped to the ground. "I said stop the fucking moving, now." I monotonically said. "In fact, everybody drop their wand on the ground."

"I said drop it or you lose your head!" I growled at Moody as he went to raise his wand at me.

"Potter?" Moody queried, not liking a gun planted firmly in his magical eye.

"We're here to collect you Potter" said Hestia Jones, her voice sounded frightened. Obviously not an Auror, I thought.

"Excuse me if I don't blindly believe that," I spoke evenly not budging an inch. "Drop your wands. I will not ask you again."

"Alastor, please drop your wand," Lupin requested from the ground, blood is clearly running down the side of his face. I can't allow myself to be distracted refocusing on the conversation I can barely make out what he says next, "Harry is not joking around here."

"As if one could mistake a gun in my face as a joke," Moody commented gruffly. "Fine." Moody dropped his wand and kept his eye on Harry.

"Kick them all under the table. Please."

"Prove you, are you." I said.

Moody saw the intent in my eyes. I was serious and am prepared to pull the trigger. This is my new philosophy. Fuck with me and I'll fuck you over big time "Crouch Junior had me locked up in my own bloody trunk for an entire year. Most embarrassed I have ever been in my life."

"How many hairs did Crouch take from you? How was Crouch able to know personal information? How can you honestly expect me to trust you?" All reasonable questions any concerned person would consider. Aren't Weasley and Grangers constantly going on about how insecure owl deliveries are? Voldemort could've easily intercepted them and send his own people.

"Your answers are worthless, I've been stuck in the fucking house for the entire summer and I've not a fucking clue if you are who you claim to be. I don't now how powerful the death eaters are and I certainly don't trust anyone, other than Hedwig right now. So we're all going to stand here for an hour."

The idea of leaving Remus bleeding on my Aunts floor is very appealing. But in the back of my mind I know that they are who they claim to be. "You," I said pointing at Jones, "pick up Lupins wand and heal their wounds."

This whole scenario was more got to do with asserting my independence than it does with self-defence. Revenge is a bitch.

I just knew today was going to be one of those days. I'm cursed, I just know it. Of all the things to happen today; standing here practically in my birthday suit holding five people at gun point, was not one of them.

I'm Harry Potter and this is by bizarre life. Well at least the neighbours will have something to talk about and no way can Fudge claim I've breached the unreasonable use of magic either. Besides, it looks like I'm going to expelled from Hogwarts. Might as well give them a real reason.

Pity I won't be able to see their faces when they discover that I've fled. Let them sort out their own fucking mess!


End file.
